When the one thought moment of joy arises
Nirvana is attained without severing blind passions
When ignorant and wise, even grave offenders and slanders of the
Dharma, all alike turn about and enter shinjin,
They are like the waters that, on entering the ocean, become
One in taste with it.
Shoshin Nembutsu ge
My neighborhood stretched from 13th South to 17th South going north to south and State Street to fourth east, fifth if you included the barbershop, Oster’s drug store and the Pink Palace Ice Cream shop, west to east. In front of my house was Whittier Ward. I lived on a dead-end street, with South High School’s football field at the end. Most of my friends attended Whittier Ward, across the street from my house. The Bishop of the LDS Ward (church) was Bishop Cazier. He was also the barber. When we moved a couple blocks away, to a new house, between third and fourth east. I was closer to some other friends in Wilson Ward and about a half a block away from Whittier Elementary School. On the corner was a small store we kids called “the school store” because it was across the street from Whittier elementary. This was before 7-11s and Maverick gas station convenience stores. There was a few household items, food stuffs and toys. However, the main reason we went there was because of the large glass counter with candy and the fridge with soda pop. The school store was owned by Marion and Bill Rudman.
My gang of friends consisted of myself; a third generation Japanese American. Richard H., red haired and the tallest in our group. His father was from Scotland and his mother from England. His mother made the best meringue biscuits, which she would bake for me on my birthday. His father had been in the Scot’s guard in World War II and was a POW in a German prison of war camp. He was missing a couple of fingers on his hand. I always imagined he lost them during the war. However, I think Richard said he had accidentally cut them off on a power saw. The others in our little gang were Brian H., who’s family moved to Salt Lake City from Southern Utah, near Richfield and Kurt N., who was one of those kids who was just there. The Trujillo’s were a Mexican family who lived on the corner in a duplex, they didn’t play with us. John Demetrius’s family had recently moved from Greece and lived in a small apartment house down the street. John taught us how to play what he called “football” we told him, “It’s called SOCCER, this is America!” Although he was a much older man, my neighbor Jesse Whittaker was also someone I considered my friend. Jesse was from Tennessee. I would go and sit on his front porch with him, while he played his guitar. He would tell me about the good old days in Tennessee, and about the types of music he liked. “The Beverly Hillbillies” were on T.V. back then and he knew Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs, who played the theme song. This was close to sixty years ago. It’s amazing how little I knew about the rest of the world, but I loved my neighborhood and knew every nook and cranny. During my childhood, I’d probably been inside more than half the houses.
When Summer came, it felt as though the entire world was ours. On some days we would collect pop bottles or ask our parents for twenty-five cents, to buy a large bottle of Mac’s soda, from the “school store”. We would each get our own bottle and usually different flavors. The other guys would share their sodas, I never liked to share mine with them. The thought of someone else other than my family putting their lips on my pop bottle, “disgusting.”
It's hard to believe sixty years have passed since those idyllic, endless summers. Summers meant getting up, just meeting my neighborhood friends, and deciding what to do that day. Play in the fields, build a tree house, or play baseball on the grass playground of Whittier Elementary, all day long. As I’ve said before, this was a working-class neighborhood. None of our families had money. Although, like I’ve said, I thought my family was well off. I know Richard’s parents were from the UK. My Dad was Nisei, a second generation Japanese American. Mom was a Kibei Nisei. Meaning she was born in Bingham, Utah, but at the age of two, her parents sent her and her older brother Sam to Japan. The family expected to eventually move back to Japan, and they wanted their oldest children to go back first to begin school. However, World War II changed all of that. My mom returned to the U.S. when she was around 20 years old. My Uncle Sam never came back. He was conscripted into the Japanese army and was a kamikaze pilot. Luckily the war ended before he was sent on his mission. My mom was essentially a Japanese woman. She spoke English with a very strong Japanese accent. Like I’ve said, so many people have expressed some embarrassment about their immigrant parents. I never felt that way. I thought my mother was the most beautiful woman in the world; small, elegant, graceful, and kind. We didn’t have a lot of money, but she was always well dressed. I know and admit that I was the definition of a Momma’s boy and proud of it.
I’m sure all my neighborhood friends’ parents have now been reborn in the Pure Land. I know many of the friends of my youth, especially from my college days, have also been reborn. Even more than my elementary to high school years, my college years really shaped who I became. It was fun, fighting with the University administration to start back an Asian American Affairs office. They had one for a few years before I started at the University in 1975, with Ron Aramaki as the advisor. But when I got there in 1975, there was no Asian American Affairs office. There was a Chicano, Black and Native American office but nothing for Asian Americans. Glen Morinaka and I worked to get something started again at the University. In about 1977 or 1978 we started the University of Utah Asian American Student Association. Eventually, I would be hired by the University as the Asian American Affairs advisor and the advisor for all ethnic student organizations. I also worked with the EEOC, Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, or at least I think that was what it was called. There were so many interesting people I worked with during my University of Utah days. The dean was Mr. Franklin Mckean, a former army general. The assistant dean was Mr. Norm Gibbons. The head of the EEOC was Mr. John Florez. The people I worked with at the Center for Ethnic Student Affairs were Mr. Francisco Antonia Cordova, Mr. Pete Suazo, Mr. Lento Maez, Mr. Lacee Harris and the director was Mr. Leonard Woods. Our secretary was Ms. Helen Dikieous (sp?) a very proud Greek American woman, who would always bring us Easter bread, a loaf of bread with an egg baked in it. All of them have been reborn in the Pure Land.
During those years at the University, there was one thing I am still ashamed of. As the advisor for the student organizations associated with our Center for Ethnic Student Affairs (CESA), I worked with student government. At one point, there was a group of Gay students that wanted to become a part of our ethnic student organizations. This was almost fifty years ago. The “Stonewall uprising” in New York, which many consider the beginning of the LGBTQ movement was in 1969. Back then, if someone was gay, it was a secret. In my neighborhood, there were two men who I remember as well dressed and having a very nice little house. On looking back, I’m sure they were a gay couple, but they were just said to be very good friends. It’ hard to imagine how difficult life must have been for LGBTQ people. I our temple or even BCA for that matter, I never heard of anyone that was gay, after I had become a minister in 1987. When I was at the U. I didn’t understand how important this support from the community was needed. I should have lent my support, but I didn’t think the LGBTQ group had anything in common with the ethnic student organizations. Now in retrospect, I believe this is an important civil rights issue and I regret not supporting it back then.
The reason I am bringing this hodgepodge of memories, is because I am getting old. I remember thinking how old people sure love to go on and on about the good old days. Now that I am the old guy, I realize I was right about that and as an old guy I can weave and waver and reminisce about my good old days, for hours and hours. However, my good old days are not your good old days and I hope you have many good days to come. However, I have learned a lot since I was a child and in college. I still learn things at my age. Yes, you can teach a old dog new tricks. However, the reason I began this article with this quote from the Shoshinge. Is that I believe this is Shinran expressing how all Human beings should be treated equal. Race, color, creed, gender should not be a reason for discrimination, cruelty or isolation.
The first Sunday in June, we held the Gay Pride parade in Salt Lake City. Our temple has taken part in the pride parade for many years, but this year, Ogden Temple joined us. We had at least thirty or forty people in our group. The first year, we had less then twenty, so it was almost a fifty percent increase. We have decided to start an LGBTQ affiliated organization at the Salt Lake Buddhist Temple. The last line of the quote I began with has the phrase “one in taste”. in Japanese this is read “Ichimi”. The group will be called “Ichimi”. This was begun at the Gardena Buddhist temple. On August 19 we will be holding a seminar that CBE is sponsoring at the West Los Angeles Buddhist temple. It is called "Diversity in Amida's Vow: Inspiring Transformation in Our Sanghas" A seminar on healing and movement with the LGBTQ+ community. It will only be in person. However, maybe some of you may want to join us.
In addition, we will soon be having our Hatsubon services in Salt Lake, Ogden, Honeyville and Idaho Oregon Buddhist temples (IOBT). Between the four temples I serve, this has been a very difficult year in regard to the deaths of our members. Although we did not hold services for everyone. I have the Hatsubon names for all those whose families can attend the service or who had services of some sort with the temple. This year we had 37 people on our Hatsubon list of names. Hatsubon is a service to remember our deceased family members and friends who passed or were reborn into the Pure Land since the last Obon service. As the passage at the beginning refers to the various rivers entering the ocean to become one in taste. I believe this is also in reference to our afterlife. I do not believe that the Pure Land is limited to only Jodo Shinshu Buddhists with Shinjin, as some ministers may say. I believe this passage is in reference to the idea that all of us will enter the ocean like vastness of the Pure Land without discrimination. We will all meet again as the Amida Sutra states; “Ku E Issho”.
Some people have difficulty in accepting others that are different from themselves. This is a very human problem and quality. However, Amida Buddha accepts everyone one, just as they are. It is a mystery to we humans, and I can’t really tell you how or why. It is a mystery and wonder. As first two lines of the Shoshinge states: “Ki myo mu ryo ju nyo rai” I take refuge in the Tathagata of Immeasurable Life. “No mo fu ka shi gi ko” I entrust myself to the Buddha of Inconceivable Light. Mysteries, I take refuge in the mysterious wonder of Amida Buddha’s compassionate light. These are bowing before the mysteries of life and entrusting ourselves to Amida Buddha’s wisdom and compassion. To not only embrace us, but those we love, who have passed into the Pure Land. In closing this hodge podge of memories, I would like to leave you with one of my favorite poems. Over these 66 years of my life, I have realized that the poet Mary Oliver was so insightful in writing this. I hope to see you again, here, or there. Namo Amida Butsu.
Mysteries, Yes
Mary Oliver
Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous
To be understood.
How grass can be nourishing in
The mouths of lambs.
How rivers and stones are forever
In allegiance with gravity
While we ourselves dream of rising
How two hnds touch and the bonds will
Never be broken
How people come, come from delight or the
Scars of damage,
To the comfort of a poem.
Let me keep my distance, always, from those
Who think they have all the answers.
Let me keep company always with those
Who say
“Look” and laugh in astonishment,
And bow their heads.